I was glad of my cosy, blaze-camo Austealth jacket and matching lined cap this morning. A pre-first light start saw me chasing calf-killing wild dogs on a nearby farm. A sharp, cold breeze was whistling about me as I noted a touch of frost in the gullies. I am testing these excellent, Aussie designed hunting clothes for a full review in the SSAA magazine.
I worked my way over a kilometre of rolling ridges, calling every few hundred metres. I was glad to reach my end point, a tree just over the ridgeline, on the eastern side. I thought there was a good chance of finding the dogs there as they used the rising sun to warm themselves.
I was glad of the early morning sun too. I call bare-handed and my hands were numb. With cold, stiff fingers, it was proving difficult to get the right note in my calling. I gave it an hour, watching the sun draw a light veil of mist out of the gullies and wet grass. I saw no sign of the marauding wild dogs this morning. A couple of days ago, on a similar expedition with hunting buddy Peter, I had briefly glimpsed a dog that offered no chance of a shot. I was pleased to head back to the warmth of the farmhouse for a cup of tea and a chat.
Peter and I have just returned from a week’s camping and chasing wild dogs on an enormous property (near-on 10,000 square kilometres) up in the dust and heat of the gulf country. We worked hard on those elusive hounds, including the trail camera photo of a pair not 120 metres from our camp. But, that is another story.